


Next Time

by dragonimp



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 08:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15725595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonimp/pseuds/dragonimp
Summary: Roy and Ed have known each other for years but the whole "relationship" aspect is something they're both new to dealing with.





	Next Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for RoyEd Week 2018 on tumblr

Ed was waiting on the porch.

Roy peered through the rain on the windshield. He hadn't heard from his young lover since he had left for his research trip two weeks ago. That itself wasn't remarkable—Ed easily lost track of time. But their parting had been a rather . . . explosive one.

Ed stood as he came up the walk, tucking his hands in his pockets and shrugging a greeting. "Hi."

"Hi," Roy echoed. "Why didn't you use your key?"

"Dunno." He shrugged again, glancing away. "I didn't . . . guess I didn't know if I should."

It would take a lot more than a silly fight to make him unwelcome—surely Ed knew that.

Roy hid his frown as he unlocked the door. "Well . . . come on in, then," he said as he shook out the umbrella." I hope you didn't get too cold out here."

"S'fine. I was just . . . I wanted time to think."

Ed's train had come in around fifteen-hundred—he was wont to walk in all weather, and this rainstorm wouldn't have made him think twice. Yet his coat was merely damp, not dripping.

Roy set the umbrella in the entryway and took care of his coat and boots. Without a word, Ed kicked off his boots and dropped them onto their customary corner of the mat, then hung his coat on the peg that always sat empty for him.

Before the familiarity could break down into awkwardness, Roy gestured toward the kitchen. "Cupboards are a little bare right now, but I have some leftovers. If you're interested."

Ed flashed a grin. "You know I'm good with anything."

"Hm. As long as it doesn't come out of a cow?"

"If it's curdled and aged we're fine."

The silence settled thick and heavy despite their efforts.

Roy kept his attention on the food and the stovetop.

Ed stood at the edge of the table, shifting his weight back and forth. Right on the creaky spot in the floor.

Roy wondered if he knew he was doing it.

Ed stepped aside as Roy pulled down some plates. "Hey—um." He glanced down, then met his eye. "I just—sorry."

Roy paused.

Ed coughed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I was—things hadn't been going right, and I was frustrated, and . . . shit. That doesn't excuse yelling and being an ass. Does it."

"Ed. . . ."

"No, look—it's just—I don't really know how to _do_ this. _This_." He gestured between them. "I don't know how it's supposed to go—what you're supposed to do when—shit."

Roy bit back his grimace as he divided up the food.

"Don't most people do—do trial runs of this kind of thing? As teenagers? I didn't—I mean, I never—shit, my first ever date was that music play you took me to."

He chuckled. "Operetta." He held out one of the plates and gestured to the table. "The truth is. . . ."

Roy wavered. He felt foolish for feeling so self-conscious. It wasn't as if Ed didn't already know the darkest corners of his soul. Something like this should be trivial.

Ed dropped down into his usual chair. The one to Roy's left. Roy sighed and sat down.

"The truth is—I don't have much experience in this arena, either."

Ed gaped at him. Roy arranged his plate and silverware.

"Understand now, I have perfected the art of flirting. I could write a handbook on first dates. But—this?" He repeated Ed's earlier gesture. "This is new to me, too."

". . . Wow. and I thought _I_ was a late bloomer."

Roy kicked his ankle. The one that wouldn't bruise his foot.

"So you're saying we're both kind of . . . starting from zero on this one?"

He half shrugged, half nodded. Deliberately started eating. "I didn't even have any good models growing up," he said to his plate. "My parents died when I was young, and my aunt has never been the marrying type. Even my teacher was a widower."

"I—oh." Ed took several bites. "Guess that means I actually have a leg up. Sort of. At least I had Sensei and Sig. Even if my own parents were. . . ."

"Mm."

They ate in silence for a time.

"You weren't the only one who wasn't . . . behaving his best," Roy admitted. "I had been stressed myself. And when your temper frayed like that. . . ."

Ed snorted. "Yeah, you were goading me. You think I can't tell?"

"Guilty, I'm afraid."

Ed pushed a potato slice around his plate. "We . . . kinda . . . bring out the worst in each other. Don't we."

". . . Sometimes."

He didn't know how to express that that wasn't all there was to it. To them. That Ed brought out so much in him that sometimes he didn't know how to handle it. That everything, the good and the bad, was so much brighter, sharper, more alive with Ed there beside him.

"Does it . . . have to be?"

Roy looked up, startled out of his own brooding.

"Does it have to be that way? Can't we. . . ." He waved a hand. "Figure this out or something? I mean, it's not . . . it shouldn't be . . . we've faced down worse, right?"

Roy caught his hand. "God, Ed. I hope so. I'm not—" He swallowed. "I have never planned on give up." He hadn't been letting himself even consider the possibility.

Ed's smile spoke volumes.

Their hands came to rest on the corner of the table. Roy caressed his thumb over the metal knuckled as they ate. Something that had become so familiar and comforting in the last few months.

"Y'know . . . we're both pretty good at making shit up as we go and somehow coming out okay."

Roy smiled. "I believe that's called 'adapting'."

"So we can . . . adapt, right? Figure this shit out."

Roy squeezed his hand.

"To start with . . . next time, let yourself in."


End file.
